


Magic Embodied

by Regen



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regen/pseuds/Regen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris has some late night musings about Hawke and her magic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Embodied

**Author's Note:**

> For FenHawke week on Tumblr. Hope you all enjoy!

Hawke embodied magic, Fenris realized one night.

Not just with the innate magic that flowed in her blood. She was a talented mage, but it was more than that. It was in the way she moved: her body possessed a gracefulness and elegance one wouldn’t normally attribute to the woman, given the array of scars scattered across her skin. It was in the baffling way she managed to get herself and others into and out of trouble, and always managing to come out on top. It was in the way she irresistibly charmed and infuriated those around her: a paradoxical mix of vexation and admiration.

From his perch against the headboard, he watched her dress in the low firelight, the glow of the flames and the flickering shadows casting her in an almost ethereal light. She pulled a shift over her frame, the flimsy material hanging loosely on her as it settled on her shoulders. The “outfit” left little to the imagination; he could already feel the first tinges of desire igniting beneath his skin. That bit of clothing would not stay on her long.

He would never understand how she had come to have such sway over him. When they had first met, he told himself to be careful around her. She was a mage; she could not be trusted.

 _Look at how well that turned out,_ he thought dryly.

Hawke shifted and looked at Fenris, a soft smile immediately setting into place. Her eyes glinted with… something. Mirth? Love? Knowing? Sometimes she still confounded him, even after all the years he’d known her. Frustrating, and yet, somehow, he felt more drawn to her for it.

The air charged with unspoken tension. Hawke seemed to sense it, too, as she slowly approached the bed without a word; normally she had some quip at the ready. He never averted his eyes from her as she climbed in next to him. Rather than tucking herself under the covers or collapsing in a dramatic heap, she crawled over to him and straddled his hips. Despite the intimate position, she carefully made sure her skin touched his clothes, letting them be a barrier between her skin and his lyrium markings.

She cocked her head to the side, watching him, waiting for his consent. She always left it up to him whether or not anything would be initiated.

Maker preserve him, he loved her all the more for it.

Maybe it was all part of some elaborate spell, he idly thought as he leaned up and roughly captured her lips with his. She bewitched him, completely and irrevocably, and he doubted he had the strength nor desire to break free from it. He loved her more than words could express, in Trade or Tevene, and he could not imagine life without her. He would rather die than face that prospect.

“What have you done to me?” He leaned back for the briefest of moments to utter the words and pull her shift off of her. He tossed the shirt to the side as his free hand reached up to palm her breast, his fingers kneading into the soft mound.

She gasped his name, an invocation pressed against his skin as he continued to massage her breast. Staff-worn hands gripped and dug into his skin and hair. Her hips ground and rubbed against his, begging for more.

He kissed her again, greedily sucking and tasting as his tongue slipped into her. He already could begin to feel his lyrium markings reacting to her magic. Her fingers ran up and down his body soothingly; he knew she did it in case his markings hurt. But that rarely happened with her anymore. Where her touch once inflamed, just like anyone else’s, it now eased.

More of her odd brand of magic, he supposed.

Fenris groaned as he fought with the laces on his breeches, struggling to undo them to free his erection. It was hard to concentrate, with his thoughts spinning in all different directions and with Hawke leaning down and sucking on the lobe of his ear. Her slim hands joined his and together they managed to undo his pants. With some repositioning, they both got his breeches off, taking his undergarments with them and tossing them in the same general direction as Hawke’s night shift.

She shimmied out of her small clothes, kicking them away. Without ceremony, Fenris gripped her backside and positioned her so she was over him. Her hands bracing against his shoulders, she lowered her hips onto him, both of them groaning in unison when he entered her.

For a long moment, she watched him, eyes dark from lust. Her hair hung in her face; he brushed it away gently with his fingers, tucking it behind her ear.

Then, ever so slowly, her hips began to rock into him. They moved in a hypnotizing sway he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Another spell woven over his mind, dragging him further in love with her with a dimming chance of escape. With a guttural growl he snapped up his hips to meet her, driving into her with a force that surprised her. For a split second, he feared he hurt her. But her soft gasp and gentle plea for “ _More_ ” assured him of otherwise.

“As you wish,” he said, his voice hoarse from need as he thrust hard to meet her movements.

She shuddered when he reached between them and fingered her clit, rubbing and tweaking it with the confidence of nights from practice. He hummed as her thrusts slowly grew more erratic, less focused on keeping a rhythm and more on rutting herself on his cock and against his finger. Her arms shook and she was forced to lower herself onto her elbows, her forehead pressed against his as she fought for that release.

Her face scrunched up from the effort. “Fenris, _please._ ”

He flipped them over, long fingers digging into the soft skin of her hips as he drove relentlessly into her. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pressing him against her. She threw her head back and moaned, wanton and unashamed as he drove against her just right. “ _Maker,_ you know I love you, right?”

No matter how many times she said it, Fenris could never quite get used to it. The words gave him unparalleled joy, and they brought him a sense of peace he never knew existed. And perhaps that was why, despite how much she had completely enchanted him with her words and wry smiles and baffling humor, he held no fear of her sway over him. Because somehow, he managed to earn her love. She may have snuck his heart out from under him, but he had hers, too.

“I am yours,” he panted in response, the words falling in a familiar tumble from his lips as their hips met, thrust for thrust. The rest of his thoughts faded in a great blur as she keened, her climax finally cresting. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent and tasting her skin with every ragged breath as he chased his own finish.

It came bright and hot, making him see stars behind his eyes as he poured into her with a sharp yell barely muffled by her skin. His forearms bore the brunt of his weight as his body collapsed. He panted, and between his own breaths he could hear her heart thundering in her chest.

Soothing fingers over his scalp finally coaxed him from his haphazard position. He pulled himself out of her and propped himself on his elbows. He was met with a lazy smile and a raised brow.

“Why do I bother getting dressed at night?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” he murmured.

Chuckling, she looked over at the fireplace. “Fire’s getting low,” she said as she reached out with her other hand. With a wiggle of her fingers, the fading embers reignited and roared back to life.

The action barely registered with Fenris; he was more occupied with rolling off of Hawke and getting comfortable for the night. She quickly followed suit, nesting her head in the crook of his neck with one arm draped over his chest: her favorite position.

“Good night, Fenris,” Hawke whispered, her voice sleepy as her eyes drifted shut.

If Hawke embodied magic, Fenris thought, resuming his earlier musing, then he’d fallen in love with magic itself. The irony was not lost on him.

“Good night, Hawke.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

_Maker, don’t ever let me live without magic again._


End file.
